


Partial

by KiwiBerry



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Minor Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Multi, One-Sided Enjolras/Grantaire, One-Sided Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier, Post canon, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, but not really, possible Courfeyrac/Jean Prouvaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:32:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiBerry/pseuds/KiwiBerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are back in town and everyone is alive and well.  Except for Enjolras who wont feel right until they find the last member of their group: Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Le Début

Enjolras knew he was different. It wasn’t an inherent difference but rather a subtle one. It was like looking in a mirror and thinking the person across from you was you but they weren't _really you_ ; like there was some subtle way in which they shifted their eyes slightly downward or the way their shoulders stiffened when you reached toward the glass that let you know that you were the same yet different; that you were two halves of an incoherent whole. It is an odd thought for any man let alone a child of four and three quarters years. But lo and behold, the thought was dwelling deep inside the mind of Enjolras, a child only by definition, and it stayed there for many years to come.

It wasn’t until his sixth birthday, when he glanced at the candles on his birthday cake and began screaming, the room sounding as if a great war had erupted, voices calling his name over and over again, that Enjolras’ parents sought to fix their sons apparent ‘difference’.

They tried a therapist, but to no avail. Enjolras would simply sit himself upon the very edge of his seat and stare out into the open window, reciting stories and lines from his favorite history books, until his session came to an end and he sat solitary and alone inside his family’s car, the driver not even deeming him worth a glance in the rearview mirror. Enjolras would always sigh and grasp his hand with his other, the feeling of loss overwhelming him to the point where he felt like he was drowning. 

The second try was boarding school. They thought if their son could make a few friends, a few connections outside the family, he could get better; _would_ get better. Unfortunately, Enjolras’ night terrors, which consisted of him screaming himself awake each and every night, clawing at his sheets as if they were covered in blood (which he swore,only a moment ago, they were and that there were holes in his chest, and he could feel pain and-), ended his stay and he was quickly boxed up and shipped back to his parents, a letter of explanation (or rather complaint) pinned to his coat like he was some gift to be returned for being faulty, _damaged_. His nanny assured him that it wasn’t true, but Enjolras knew better. He was different after all. 

Eventually, exasperated, his parents gave up, and simply sent him to a private school not far from their house; far enough for him to be able to take the bus, but close enough for them to tell him not to. They were a respectable family and they would rather die than see their son aboard a common bus with filthy, unruly children. That’s how his parents were: old fashioned, to say the least.

It was there he met a boy by the name of Connor, but Enjolras knew him by a different name, a familiar name: Combeferre. He wasn’t exactly sure why he knew this boys name, his real name, or why when he looked into his eyes he felt safety and security; why it felt like home. It wasn’t until Con- no, _Combeferre_ took his hand and asked him if he was riding the bus home that Enjolras knew that Combeferre was a piece of what was missing, of what he was searching for, but only a piece. Enjolras tried his best not to seem disheartened at the touch of the others hand in his, a touch that had not filled the void in himself as he had hoped, and instead smiled when he heard the other refer to the encompassing yellow vehicle in front of them as “The bus of the people.”

That day Enjolras rode home on a bus with children just as unruly and filthy as his parents had said they would be. It thrilled him to the bone, and he could feel his skin tingle against the hard, sticky vinyl of his seat. 

That same afternoon he was pulled into his house by the hair and sent to bed without supper, his parents reprimanding voices echoing through the house as they argued over whose fault it was; over who had led their son down this disastrous path. But Enjolras could care less and he couldn’t help but smile at the pain he felt on his scalp and the adrenaline that rushed through his veins. It was his first taste of revolt, of _revolution_ , and he loved it. 

The next day he went to school, and met a friend of Combeferre’s, a boy whose name he did not care to remember for he already knew his name, his _real_ name.

“Courfeyrac.”

The boy had looked up at Enjolras, eyes wide and questioning, as if trying to understand. He’d fidgeted with the bottle of glue he’d been holding, creating some sort of hodgepodge battle scene with macaroni, and it wasn’t until his mouth sounded out each syllable of the name as if it was something venerable, divine, that Enjolras allowed himself to smile.

Another piece of the puzzle had been set in place, and Enjolras could feel himself being mended back together, fixed, just like his parents had wanted. He was finally becoming whole again fragment by fragment, name by name. It started with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, then continued on into Joly and Bosseut, Bahorel, Feuilly and Jehan, Marius. He was no longer drowning but rather floating just beneath the surface, waiting for that one single hand to reach down and pull him from the depths. To make him whole again.

But unfortunately, in the years to come, that hand never came. And Enjolras felt himself slowly unraveling, incomplete and defective once again. His friends took notice, feeling ashamed at not being able to help, and it was Jehan who had suggested they go visit a local art gallery (where he just so happened to be a regular) to help displace the feelings of dread and misfortune that encompassed the group. Enjolras had been weary, he had no time for such frivolous things, but at his friends insistence he had adorned himself with his red coat, one he was constantly poked fun at for (if only because of the symbolic irony), and was quickly whisked out his door and down the streets of Paris, the sun just setting in the distance and the air smelling so strongly of stale bread that Courfeyrac swore he could taste it on his tongue.


	2. Rencontrer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras discovers a problem in his plans.

The gallery wasn’t far from Enjolras’ apartment, only a few blocks past the Cafe Musain and a sharp turn to the right at the bakery, and in a matter of minutes the group had arrived outside its wide paned windows, a small wooden sign proclaiming, “Galerie d'art de Tholomyès” in simple painted letters with a quaint picture of two paint brushes beneath it, paint dripping off of them as if they had recently been used. The building was small, and nestled between a small bookstore and an apartment complex that was currently for rent, the red lettered sign hanging despondently in the window. It was quaint, to say the least, and not really Enjolras’ type of establishment, but Jehan had mentioned to him that it was privately owned and that it was, in fact, not another corporately owned chain. Taking that into consideration, it was currently Enjolras’ favorite gallery in Paris. 

Enjolras took another minute to take in his surroundings before noticing the rest of the group staring expectantly at him as he stood in front of the door, a small flyer hanging from the inside announcing tonight’s featured artist. Enjolras, of course, did not recognize the name scribbled at the bottom of the paper, but that was no surprise. He wasn’t exactly what Jehan would call an ‘art person’. 

“Well,” spoke up Courfeyrac from somewhere behind him, “Aren’t you going to open the door?”

Enjolras sighed before turning the small glass knob and pulling the door outward, causing Feuilly, who was behind him, to stumble backward into Bahorel. Enjolras ignored the cries of complaint that followed and quietly stepped inside, the rest of his friends close behind. 

Inside, the building was larger than it appeared. Enjolras reasoned the place had most likely been an apartment, much like the one next door, and had been renovated to take on the appearance of a gallery. The three rooms downstairs all opened into one another, not a single door in sight, and a small, elegant staircase to the left lead into what Enjolras could only imagine was yet another floor of similar rooms.

“Hello.”

Enjolras looked up from where he was standing, having not ventured very far from the entrance, and into the face of an extraordinarily quirky young lady. She was the essence of the word petite, whether it be from her stature to the hands she held clasped together in front of her, and her blue eyes shone something fierce, contrasting perfectly with her pale, blonde hair. She waited patiently for Enjolras to answer, never breaking her gaze from his.

“Hello,” Enjolras answered back with a tentative nod of acknowledgement. He really hoped that would suffice and the woman would be on her way.

Unfortunately the woman replied, quite happily in fact, “My name’s Cosette. I’m the owner of this gallery.”

“Ah,” Enjolras interrupted, looking Cosette up and down, “That makes sense.”

Cosette blushed slightly at the comment, a curious glint in her eyes, before regaining her composure and smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle in her skirt. 

“Yes. Well. I saw you come in with a group a little while ago and you were the only one who didn’t take off immediately, so I assumed this must be your first time here?”

Enjolras nodded appreciatively before turning to glance at a nearby sculpture with mild contempt.

“And I’m guessing you’re not much of an art person either?”

Enjolras nodded once again, and even smiled at the comment. Cosette blushed once more before turning to face a doorway to her left, smoothing out yet another nonexistent fold, this time on her sleeve. 

“Well today’s exhibit features the famous french artist Eugène Delacroix,” Cosette recited, as she led him into another room, this one adorned with only paintings on the walls and a single large portrait hanging against the farthest, a small roped off area in front of it, “who was famous for his expressive works. One of his most famous works of art, which we are lucky enough to have on display today, is his painting, ‘La Liberté guidant le peuple’.”

At this Cosette motioned toward the painting behind the red rope, and Enjolras found himself quite intrigued. The painting was of what he took to be a battle of some sorts, some men lying dead and others soldiering on. On the left stood a boy, no older than twelve he reasoned, and beside him a woman, the french flag held firmly in her hand, stepping over the bodies of the fallen, and a bitter expression on her face. It sent shivers down his spine, causing him to throw his shoulders back slightly, and when he looked back at Cosette, she was practically glowing.

“Feel free to look at any of the others,”she said, motioning to the rest of the room with a wave of her hand, “the exhibit will only be here until the end of the week. After that its back to Lens for these old things.”

Cosette laughed at her own joke before stopping when she realized Enjolras was not sharing in her humor. She then bowed slightly, a gesture that left Enjolras quite confused, and moved to leave the room. 

“Find me if you have any questions!” she called out before disappearing from the doorway, and Enjolras felt himself sigh a breath of relief. He admired the woman’s passion, he did, but she was practically overflowing with it. He didn’t know whether to be in awe or concerned, but decided that any diagnosis was reserved for Joly and settled for a slight discomfort, turning his attention back to the painting before him.

He didn’t know what it was that pulled him toward the painting, but it was the only thing he could think about at the moment. The woman in the middle was breathtaking: her face was aperfect example of irate beauty and the French flag waving behind her was bold and powerful, as true a symbol of the French people as ever, and her expression was filled with such determination and strength that Enjolras felt his heart swell with pride just at the thought of following such a daring woman into battle; she could only be described as the Patria he had spoken of so long ago. The men in the picture were admirable as well, the fallen forgotten beneath Liberty’s feet yet to be avenged in the near future. But most of all, he admired the passion in the young boys eyes, his hands raised towards the heavens, pistols in each, almost undoubtedly ready to die for his cause, for his people... Enjolras felt only a twinge of pain at the sight, reminding himself of yet another young boy full of such courage and strength, with enough backbone for an entire army. He smiled remorsefully, remembering, once again, the blood spilled on his account. 

“It is beautifully sad, isn’t it?”

Enjolras was caught off guard, the voice seeming to come from nowhere, and when he took a step back,it took him a few moments to compose himself as he came away from the paintings trance.

“Can you imagine? Marching into battle, ready to die at any moment, at such a young age? He can’t be anymore than, what, thirteen years old?”

Enjolras turned to answer but felt his breath catch in his throat, a centuries long ache burning in his left hand. Before him stood none other than Grantaire, the hated cynic, the forgotten drunkard, the beloved fool, just as disheveled and unkempt as he remembered him. Except, maybe this time with a little more paint. 

Finding no words to help him, Enjolras focused his attention on a small stroke across the other's cheek, something of the pink hue if Enjolras’ eyes did not deceive him, and he watched it move as Grantaire bit his lip and studied the painting, before remembering that he was still waiting for a reply.

“I,” Enjolras began, slowly regaining his composure and trying his best not to stare at the man with whom he had spent his final moments, the man who had been said to believe in nothing; nothing but Enjolras himself, “I said about twelve myself, but thirteen will suffice, I suppose.”

Enjolras cursed himself for sounding so unintelligent, rambling almost as incoherently as Marius, in front of Grantaire. Fortunately, Grantaire only smiled and pulled absently at the red beanie that lay atop his head, hiding his mess of black hair, just as wild as Enjolras remembered it. Enjolras had to fight the urge to grab the others hand right then and there and never let go. Instead, he settled for his coat pockets and feigned an intrigued expression.

“So young,” Grantaire eventually agreed, glancing at Enjolras for effect, “ And for nothing, really. Those rebellions did no one any good. If you ask me all they did was get good people, innocent people, killed.” Grantaire laid a solemn hand upon the rope that encircled the painting and gazed into the picture as if he were waiting for it to agree with him.

“It is not for nothing if you believe it is right.” Enjolras found himself starting before he could stop, “ Those people died for each other, for their country, for their freedom. Is it so wrong to believe in something and be willing to die for it?”

Grantaire’s hand tightened against the rope, and Enjolras could see the agitation in the others body. It was in the way he squared his shoulders, and stiffened his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists, ready to swing: all telltale signs of a Grantaire ready to fight back. It was like they were back in the Musain again, calling each other out on the holes in their arguments, never once wondering why they bothered to fight at all. But instead, the agitation passed, nothing more than a moment that left just as quickly as it came. Enjolras felt his hands grow cold.

“Excuse my observations,” Grantaire apologized, placing his hands in his pockets as he looked to the ground rather than at Enjolras, “It is the curse of being a cynic, I suppose.”

Enjolras, having missed the slight mockery in Grantaire’s voice on his last words, had tried to reply but was cut off by a small yet boisterous voice that echoed against the cream colored walls. 

“Grant!”

Both men turned around at the name, and Enjolras came to face to face with yet another woman, this one definitely not as friendly as the first. This one was taller and not as petite as Cosette. She was built sturdier: her shoulders were squared and her jaw was smooth yet defined, almost masculine but not quite. Her black hair was pulled back from her face and hidden beneath a beige cap, her dark eyes practically boring into Enjolras’ soul. He feigned disregard, but he could not help but remember her face. He had seen it once, not long ago. Or perhaps it was?

“You ready to go?” the woman asked, saddling up next to Grantaire and sliding her arm in his, pulling him close. 

Enjolras found the motion strangely uncomfortable to watch, but tried his best to hide it. 

Grantaire nodded, only glancing at Enjolras for a moment, before answering, “Yeah. We can go.”

“Good,” the woman replied, throwing a mean look toward Enjolras as she pulled Grantaire away from him and towards the gallery’s front door, “Because I really want to try that new Italian place near your apartment and I hear they’re only open ‘till six.”

Eventually the two were out of sight, the small door slamming shut behind them, and Enjolras was left alone in the small room once again, analyzing and assessing the events that had just transpired. It was during his pondering that Marius made his way into the room, a look of complete and utter bewilderment on his face as he placed a hand upon Enjolras’ shoulder.

“Did you see-?”

“Yes, I know,”Enjolras replied, pulling at the cuffs of his jacket, annoyed at his lack of understanding in the matter at hand, “It seems we have found Grantaire after all-”

“No, I already know that!” Marius interrupted, pulling Enjolras into the front room where the others stood waiting, whispering to each other as they gazed outside. Enjolras too followed their gaze and happened to spot Grantaire and the mystery woman walking arm in arm down the street, before disappearing around a corner.

“What I mean is,” Marius started, once again, motioning to where Grantaire and the woman had just been, “what’s Eponine doing with Grantaire?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Chapter two. And at nearly twice the word count as before! :) I hope you are all still enjoying and not dreading your decision to continue reading. As you can see, our dear Barricade Boys have stumbled across a slight problem and I hope you are all eager to see what comes next! Also, next chapter will be kind of an explanation chapter, so if there are some things you're confused about stay tuned until next chapter and hopefully I can answer your questions! 
> 
> Again, thanks for reading! 
> 
> ps the title is french ;) Points to anyone who knows what is says.
> 
> pps also points to anyone who can figure out the significance behind the gallery's name


	3. Découvrir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys hold a meeting and Enjolras is oblivious.

The Café Musain was a god-send as far as Enjolras was concerned. The day he stumbled across it was a day he would never forget. 

The day had been quite bothersome: because of the rain Enjolras was forced to postpone yet another protest (even though he reminded Combeferre that the people would rise, wet or not), and had unhappily walked home, not realizing he had left his umbrella at home until after he had declined a ride from most of the Amis, promising them that he was capable of walking just fine in a little bit of rain. It turned out that ‘a little bit of rain’ soon become nothing short of a downpour, drenching Enjolras to the core, causing the collar of his jacket to stick uncomfortably to his neck. Even as he ducked under small canopies of shops on his way home, trying his best to avoid as much rain as possible, he knew he would have to find somewhere to wait out the weather before he found himself bedridden for the next week. 

Upon searching for a suitable establishment, Enjolras found his prayers answered and tucked himself quietly into a small café, not bothering to read the name. The café was small and quaint, and the few customers inside only glanced at Enjolras before returning to whatever it was they were doing, much to his relief.

Trying his best to hide his discomfort at tracking water across the floor of the shop, Enjolras quickly made his way to the counter where he was greeted by a slightly plump woman who smiled when he took his wallet out from his pocket and asked for something warm to drink. The leather carrier had been soaked through, yet the money inside was only slightly damp. Enjolras offered up an apologetic smile to which the woman waved an unconcerned hand and served him a cup of hot, black coffee. 

The cup felt warm in his chilled hands and he smiled as he brought it up to his lips, using his free hand to pay the woman what she was due. 

As he turned to leave, the woman added quickly, “There’s a fireplace upstairs, if you like. The room’s usually reserved for private parties and the like but we’ve not had many takers these days.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile, offering the woman a slight bow, and quickly found himself ascending a small staircase and reveling in the warmth of said fireplace, finding himself so entranced that even after the rain had stopped he’d found himself still nestled in one of the large armchairs, his cup long empty and body dried and warm. 

He didn’t leave until late into the night, apologizing to the woman for staying so long, but earning a smile and a small “no trouble” before being whisked out the door, promises of stopping by later on the tip of his tongue. 

When he finally stopped to acquire the name of the café, it really wasn’t a surprise what he found written above the large store windows.

So it was here Enjolras and his friends had once again taken up base, using the upper room for any and everything; from birthdays to planning to spending the evenings together, reminiscing about old times long forgotten. Whatever the occasion, the Musain would always be their home.

On most nights, Enjolras found himself at the head of the room, pacing back and forth before the fireplace as he lead the group in whatever they were doing, but today Enjolras was seated in one of the rooms large armchairs, his head resting on his hand as he stared into the fireplace, eyes reflecting the glow of the flames .

“What’s this? Enjolras? Sulking? It can’t be!”

Enjolras ignored Courfeyrac’s taunts and continued to concentrate on the way the flames evaporated into the chimney, feeling his hand grow numb under his jaw. 

“Leave him alone,” Jehan piped up from somewhere behind him, to which Enjolras was grateful, “It’s been a rough day. For all of us.”

Enjolras heard the chatter of agreement that echoed at the statement, each person in the room feeling the same worry over their recently discovered friend, and found himself sinking lower into his seat. 

Courfeyrac observed his leader’s slouch before leaning against the back of the chair, head lain on crossed arms, and commenting, “Well, if no one’s going to say it, I will: Do you think Grantaire and Eponine are together?”

After a moment of consideration and silence, he added, “Like _together_ together?”

“ _Courf._ ” Jehan chastised, and Courfeyrac turned around like a stubborn child.

“What?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. That’s what we’re here to discuss, are we not?” Courfeyrac asked, sauntering over to the table Jehan was sitting at before playing with his empty cup, “Grantaire’s “situation”.

“And Eponine,” Marius piped up, tearing his gaze from the window he’d been staring out to look around the room questioningly. 

Only Combeferre answered, trying his best to remain as neutral as possible.

“Yes, well, we are all very concerned about our friends, as we should be.”

Ever the guide, he then focused his attention on the chair Enjolras was still seated in and spoke in a calm, rational voice, “Really Enjolras, I think we should talk about this.”

“I know,” Enjolras replied after a moment of silence, slowly pushing himself up from the chair, shaking out his hand as he made his way towards his friends, “But I just don’t understand. How could he not remember? All of you remembered.”

“Yes, but some of us took a little reminding,” Combeferre added.

“But you didn’t see the way he looked at me,” Enjolras reminded, his voice low and heavy, “It was like he didn’t even recognize me.”

Combeferre placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as Enjolras sat down beside him, “I’m sure there’s a reason-“

“Maybe he was drunk,” Bahorel offered up, before adding, “Seen it happen before.”

“I like to think I know a drunken Grantaire when I see one,” Enjolras asserted, glaring stubbornly at the table as he picked at a small crack in its wood.

Joly, who sat across from Bahorel, laughed quietly before a grave look passed over his face, “ Maybe he’s ill. There are numerous ailments whose symptoms include memory loss of some sort, including-“

“He’s not sick,” Combeferre reassured, throwing Joly a stop-talking-for-gods-sake look before rubbing comforting circles into Enjolras’ back. It scared him to see Enjolras like this, having only seen it happen once long ago, on a night before the barricades were even constructed. He had been full of doubt, having second thoughts and what not, and it had taken Combeferre almost the entire night to assure him that everything would be fine and that they were doing the right thing. 

Unfortunately, this time, the doubt that clouded Enjolras’ mind was not as easy to dissuade. 

“I’m sure it’s something else,” he added hopefully, “Besides, it’s affecting Eponine too.”

Enjolras snorted, resting his face in his hand once again, “I doubt it. The looks she gave me where not one of someone I am not acquainted with.”

“Maybe she remembers,” Marius piped up quickly, his voice laced with hope, before ducking his head reflexively. 

“But if she does, why doesn’t Grantaire? “

All of the Amis turned then to look at Feuilly, back resting against one of the walls and chair tipped precariously backwards, who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

He looked up for a moment, all eyes on him, and sighed, “What?”

“What do you mean?” Jehan asked, pen poised over the cup he’d stolen back from Courfeyrac, a half-finished poem encircling the width of it. 

“I mean, if Eponine remembers, which Enjolras swears she does,” he motioned, waving a hand at their leader, “Then why doesn’t she tell him? She was at the barricades that night. I’m sure she must have seen Grantaire at some point. So why hide it from him?”

“He’s right,” Combeferre agreed, “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Mutual interests?” Bahorel offered up, his mind already boggled with the drink he’d consumed that afternoon. Even though most of the others had traded in their wine for coffee, Bahorel had stayed true to himself, causing him to miss his mutual drinking partner that much more. 

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is, those two are contenders for World’s Worst Life award. I mean the girl died in the arms of the man she loved, knowing he didn’t love her back,” Bahorel paused before adding, “ No offense Marius.”

“None taken,” Marius replied, guilt written all over his face. 

“And what about Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, his eyes meeting Bahorel’s from across the room.

Bahorel looked at Enjolras with something like sympathy, before replying, “Let’s just say, he had it rougher than you think.”

“A _lot_ rougher,” Courfeyrac added, earning a hit from Jehan. 

It was then Enjolras stood, a look of determination on his face, “Whatever is going on, we are wasting time simply sitting here. I’m going to the gallery.”

“Why?” Combeferre asked, just as confused as everyone else in the room.

“I’m assuming that this was not the first time Grantaire has made his presence known at that gallery,” he answered, zipping up his red hoodie, and making for the stairs, “And I can only assume the owner knows more about him than we do.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Enjolras looked up from his descent down the stairs to see Marius standing up, adorning his jacket. 

Enjolras’ brow creased in confusion, “Why?”

The rest of the room erupted with small jokes, and a few snickers, which Marius tried his best to ignore as he placed himself next to Enjolras, unsuccessfully hiding the blush that creeped across his face. He offered up a shy shrug as his only defense to which Enjolras simply nodded, confused by his friends behavior.

With that, the two exited the café, and made their way down the lamp-lit streets of Paris, desperately hoping they would reach the gallery before its close. 

\------

When they’d arrived at the Gallery, it was ten minutes before closing, the sun setting in the distance, and Enjolras wasted no time in entering and locating the main office. When he’d found it, he rapped twice on the open door, catching the attention of the woman inside.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Cosette hadn’t been expecting visitors, and Enjolras could tell the sight of two men in her office doorway caused her slight discomfort, but Enjolras had come for answers, not to make friends.

“Hello,” Enjolras offered up, taking her acknowledgement as an invitation. She frowned slightly as he entered the room, before spotting Marius close behind.

“Marius!” she exclaimed, placing the books she had been holding onto her desk without much grace, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Cosette quickly smoothed out her skirt and pulled at her sleeves, brushing a hand through her hair as she motioned toward two chairs placed before her desk.

“Please, sit down.”

Enjolras did as he was told, and couldn’t help but notice the look of familiarity between Marius and Cosette.

“Do you two know each other?”

“You could say that,” Marius informed him, a hint of a smile on his face, as he picked up the books she laid upon her desk and began to put them away. He watched inquisitively as him and Cosette shared a secret smile, and couldn’t help but notice the way their hands brushed when she helped him finish placing the books back on the shelf behind her desk.

“Anyway,” Enjolras begin once more, focusing on the task at hand, Marius finally setting himself down in the chair opposite him, “I’ve come to inquire about one of your customers. He would most likely be a regular, dark curly hair, not short yet not tall, most likely covered in paint-”

“Oh,” Cosette squeaked, curious as to why someone would ask about one of her customers, “You mean Grant?” 

Without further conformation, Cosette then picked up a forgotten book on her desk and placed it on its shelf before pulling a picture from her desk, showcasing it to both Marius and Enjolras. In it, Cosette was posed next to none other than Grantaire, the two smiling so grandly, Enjolras could only assume they were both drunk and quite close. 

Enjolras couldn’t ignore the ache in his hand when he noticed the way Grantaire had his arm slung across Cosette’s hips, pulling her close. He quickly pocketed the hand, hoping to hide his discomfort, and watched as Cosette turned the photo back toward herself.

“This was taken at the gallery’s anniversary party last year,” Cosette offered up in explanation, placing the photo back into its rightful place, “I’ve grown quite fond of him over the years.”

“Yes, well,” Marius spoke before Enjolras could make a reply, “It seems we know this man by a different name. From a somewhat _different_ setting.”

Cosette frowned slightly, thinking over Marius’ words, before catching his meaning. Her face immediately turned apologetic and she laced her fingers together worriedly.

“I’m sorry for not realizing before, if I would have known-“

“Do not worry,” Marius soothed, “I know you would have told us right away if you had known. Although I must admit, I don’t tell you much about our groups troubles to begin with, so I guess I am at fault as well.”

Cosette only smiled, grateful for Marius’ understanding, “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

“There is one thing you can do for us, if you don’t mind me asking,” Enjolras begin, noticing the way both Cosette and Marius looked at him as if they had forgotten he was in the room, “Would you happen to know where he lives by chance? Or any place he frequents often?”

Cosette thought for a moment, hand cupping her chin, before replying, “I don’t know where he lives and other than my gallery, I can’t think of any place he frequents. He’s very much a drifter,” Enjolras almost smiled at the comment, “But I do know he attends the University in town. He’s an art major, if that helps.”

“Thank you, Cosette,” Marius began, moving towards Cosette, cutting of any further inquiries from Enjolras, “You’ve been very helpful.”

At this, he took up her hand and kissed it lightly, earning a girlish giggle in reply. Enjolras tried his best not to roll his eyes, before muttering something about “Marius” and “overly affectionate with everyone”.

“Come along, Marius,” Enjolras groaned, exiting the room quite quickly, “We have places to be.”

Marius nodded once in reply before blowing Cosette a small kiss, causing her to lean dreamily against her desk and make small circles in the wood with her finger. As she watched the men leave, she couldn’t help but laugh at herself for behaving so foolish, like a little girl chasing her crush on the playground, but then again, she reminded herself, people do foolish things when they’re in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Chapter Three! Sorry for the wait, college stuff has been getting my behind in my writing. Like I said, I hope to keep this on a weekly update basis but don't be too mad if I fall behind schedule at one point or another. Once again, I do hope you all enjoy! Comments are greatly appreciated :)


	4. La Tentative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jehan plays matchmaker and Combeferre plays the role of the Wise Grandfather.

“I don’t understand.” Enjolras spoke aloud to no one in particular, “ If Grantaire’s been attending the same school as us, why haven’t we noticed him before?”

Enjolras pondered his inquiry silently, lip bitten and brow furrowed in concentration as he trudged down one of their University’s many paths, making turns where need be without ever looking up from the walk. 

Jehan sighed as he followed suite, mentally cursing Combeferre for making him come along. 

After Enjolras’ visit with Cosette, all of the Amis had sat down to develop a plan to get Grantaire back on their side. After Courfeyrac’s initial plan of kidnapping Grantaire while he slept and Bahorel’s suggestion of getting him so drunk that he would have no choice but to come back to the Musain and let them explain everything, the group had come to a rational decision: play nice and become friends. They knew it would be difficult, and quite tricky, to earn Grantaire’s trust and acceptance, but they figured if they’d done it once before, they could surely do it again. 

All in all, Jehan had been very pleased with the idea, that is, until it turned out that he was the only member not to have a morning class the next day, leaving him the only person able to accompany Enjolras on what became known as, “Stage 1 of Plan Get Back Grantaire So Enjolras Can Stop Sulking In His Big Comfy Chair And Everyone Else Can Get A Decent Night’s Sleep Without Enjolras’ Worried Text Messages Waking Them Up”. (Courfeyrac had personally decided upon the name and insisted that once it was written in his loopy handwriting across the large white board the group had placed on one of the Cafe’s walls, it was official).

“Well, he is older than you,” Jehan reminded, following his friend up the large steps of one of the campuses many halls, this one mainly for liberal arts courses, “And besides you're a political science major. I’ve doubt you’ve even been on this side of campus more than once, right?”

Enjolras suddenly stopped, Jehan’s unanswered question hanging in the air, and he looked up at the building they were about to enter, causing Jehan to come face to face with his leader’s back.

The building was on the outskirts of campus, having been one of the original parts of the school before being forgotten by the new modern additions. It’s stone walls were practically lined with age, the few large cracks that circled its width covered in ivy that begged for entrance. The doors were large and wooden and when Enjolras pulled one opened, it creaked quite loudly before banging shut behind them, echoing throughout the hall. 

Enjolras paused once inside, realizing that he had no idea where he was to go, and Jehan quietly side stepped him and made his way down the hall, a grateful Enjolras quickly at his heels.

After a short walk, and a quick stop for directions, (which Enjolras assured was unnecessary), the two quickly arrived at a small row of doors at the back of the building. Jehan stopped in front of one of them, having had the forethought to kindly inquire from various students which room Grantaire was most likely to be in, and pointed to the name tag beside it, large white letters reading the title ART STUDIO A. 

Enjolras’ smile quickly turned to a frown, and he began to tug distractedly at his jacket’s zipper. 

“I’m beginning to doubt my coming here,” he admitted, hoping his friend would understand and allow him to simply turn back and pretend as if he had never even pondered the idea of meeting Grantaire once again. 

Jehan rolled his eyes affectionately before laying a supportive arm across Enjolras' shoulders, “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

“I suppose,” Enjolras agreed, nodding solemnly to himself and reveling in the the comfort of having Jehan at his side, “but what if he finds my presence...”

Enjolras paused, trying to find the right word.

“Stalkerish?” Jehan offered up with a smile, squeezing the others shoulder affectionately.

Enjolras frowned, “Inconvenient was more what I had in mind but now that you mention it-”

Jehan ignored his friends complaints and simply opened the door to the studio,the small click of the latch catching in their ears as a cool rush of air swept into both their faces. Enjolras swallowed visibly and Jehan placed a reassuring hand on his forearm.

“Come on. If anything goes wrong, I’ll save you.”

Jehan laughed quietly to himself before adding, “I’ll be your personal superhero for the day. Or maybe your fairy godmother! ‘A dream is a wish your heart makes’ right?”

“This is no time for jokes, Jehan,” Enjolras reminded, detesting the way he had sung his last line, before being whisked inside with a laugh, the door closing definitively behind him. Enjolras felt his skin crawl at the sound.

“Of course not,” Jehan offered up apologetically, before shoving Enjolras in the direction of the lone painter in the room, too distracted in his work to notice their entry.

“Go get him tiger!”

Enjolras opened his mouth to question the poet’s words, but was cut off as he found himself falling clumsily toward Grantaire who, at the unsightly sound Enjolras had made after being shoved violently by Jehan, finally turned around to see who had arrived unexpectedly. 

Enjolras couldn’t help but feel his face flush at seeing Grantaire smile at him, most likely finding amusement in the way he was quickly stumbling forward, and tried his best to regain his composure before walking the last few steps towards the other.

Enjolras paused a moment, finding himself distracted by the eyes he swore he would never see again, before clearing his throat, hands behind his back, and greeting quite formally, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Grantaire offered back, a certain lofty thrill in his voice as he tried his best not to laugh at the sight before him. Enjolras felt his palms begin to sweat, wringing them nervously behind his back as he racked his brain for what to say next. 

Fortunately, Grantaire took that as an opportunity to continue.

“I remember you.”

At this Enjolras’ heart raced, his pulse quickening with each second he spent searching for a proper reply; the right words to steer the conversation toward what he had come to discuss. He felt his hand twitch at his side and grabbed it distinctively, calming himself, but only slightly.

When he finally found his words, all he could choke out was a half strangled, “You do?”

Enjolras cursed himself repeatedly afterwards, just imagining Jehan’s face. This was absurd. He was making a fool of himself. Maybe if he apologized now...

“Yeah,” Grantaire answered before Enjolras could finish the thought, “From the gallery, right? We got into a fight over a painting. What was it’s name?”

“‘ _La Liberté guidant le peuple’_ ,” Enjolras replied instantly, surprising himself at remembering something so trivial, before adding, “And it wasn’t really a fight. More like a difference of opinions. A domestic dispute, if you will.”

Grantaire smirked at the others words, placing the paintbrush he had been twirling between his fingers inside a small, plastic cup full of what Enjolras could only assume was water.

“Well, I suppose I must,” Grantaire mocked, bowing lightly in his seat.

The silence that followed suite was cut quite quickly by Jehan who, at that exact moment, let out a quite inappropriate giggle, clasping a hand quickly over his mouth when he realized what he’d done. He then swallowed his laughter, Grantaire smiling and Enjolras frowning, and moved toward the comedic pair.

“Hello,” he offered, placing a hand toward Grantaire, “Name’s Jehan.”

“Nice to meet you Jehan,” Grantaire offered back, wiping his paint splattered hand across his thigh before clasping it with Jehan’s, the two shaking briefly, “I’m Grant.”

“A pleasure,” Jehan added pleasantly, smiling fondly at his forgetful friend. 

Enjolras was not amused. He quite loudly cleared his throat, catching the other two’s attention and reminding them of his presence, before announcing, “And my name is Enjolras.”

“Did I ask?” Grantaire replied almost immediately, causing Enjolras’ stomach to turn violently, his body tense at the disdain in the other’s voice. 

Thankfully, Grantaire’s malice turned to humor, and he placed a paint stained hand in Enjolras’ direction, “I’m only joking. It’s nice to be able to put a name to your face.”

“Likewise,” Enjolras stated, thankful that things hadn’t turned out as bad as he imagined they would. God only knows how many times he had played out this scenario in his head, groaning at each disastrous ending, before Combeferre had to politely insist that Enjolras shut up and go to sleep.

The three stood there for a while, an awkward silence filling the large studio before Jehan interrupted, ever the savior.

“So what are you painting?” he asked earnestly, taking in Grantaire’s work.

Enjolras couldn’t help but notice the way Grantaire’s eyes lit up at the question, and he cursed himself for not asking the question first. Instead he too turned his attention toward the painting in front of them.

“It’s not much,” Grantaire admitted, motioning to the wispy outline of what could only be presumed as an unfinished portrait of a woman, “But we have to make a series of portraits of people we know. This one’s going to be my sister.”

“It’s lovely,” Jehan admired, the artist within him rising to the surface. 

Enjolras, not wanting to be bested again, added quickly, “Yes, it is quite nice.”

Grantaire smiled shyly at the compliments before shrugging, “It’s alright I guess. And I still need to do two more. I know my next one is going to be of my friend, Em, but I’m not sure about my third.

At this Jehan’s smile grew wide, and he quickly sidled up next to Enjolras, his expression as sweet as ever as he linked their arms together. 

“You could paint Enjolras.”

At this, Enjolras’ eyes met Grantaire’s and for a moment, Enjolras was sure Grantaire was going to kick them out, if only to clear the air of the absurdity of this conversation. Enjolras felt his body numb at the thought of being left alone in a room with Grantaire, once again having all of the painter’s attention on him. He was sure he would die. 

“I know you’ve only just met,” Jehan offered up in explanation, “but I like to think art has no boundaries. Besides, I’ve used Enjolras countless times in my own work, I’m more of a poet myself, but it’s practically the same thing. And he has the perfect face for painting, if you don’t mind me saying so, for even I have toyed with the idea of-”

Enjolras, desperately wishing his friend would stop talking, casually elbowed Jehan quite roughly, finding purchase somewhere between his ribcage. 

Jehan was unfazed, simply casting a look at his side, as though Enjolras hadn’t just possibly fractured something, before adding, “That is if you want to. We don’t want to infringe-”

“No, no,” Grantaire stopped him, standing up and placing himself directly in front of Enjolras. He calmly gave the other a once over, scratching at some paint on his cheek, before tilting Enjolras chin up and down, turning his face side to side, and staring quite intently into Enjolras’ eyes. 

Enjolras swallowed once again, his mouth too dry to form any words, and focused his eyes on one of the large open windows to their right. Thankfully, Jehan spoke for him.

“So what do you think?”

“He’ll do,” Grantaire stated simply, a faint blush spreading across his face as if he had only just realized his intrusion against Enjolras, before sitting himself back down in front his work and picking up his paintbrush once again.

He painted a few strokes upon his canvas before asking, “So is that all you came to ask? If I can paint your friend?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow in curiosity before watching Jehan unfold a small flyer he miraculously pulled from his pocket, a distinct picture of the Musain on the front.

“Actually, we wanted to give you this.”

Grantaire paused in his painting, accepting the flyer gratefully before reading it quietly to himself,

“Ah, you’re that group of protesters everyone talks about. The ABC or something?”

“ _Abaisse_ ,” Enjolras corrected, regretting it instantly.

“But we also go by ABC as well,” Jehan cut in, pulling at Enjolras’ jacket in annoyance, “It doesn’t really matter what you call us. What matters is that we make a difference.”

Grantaire’s expression grew smug, a witty remark obviously on the tip of his tongue, but it was washed away quickly, as if he thought better of it.

“We’d really appreciate it if you stopped by,” Jehan added with a smile, “We’re always looking for new members.”

Enjolras looked about ready to remind his friend that this was Grantaire they were talking about but was silenced by a look from Jehan, who then shifted his eyes from Enjolras to Grantaire as if to signal that he should say something as well. 

Enjolras placed his hands defensively in his pockets and added, “ Yes. It would be nice to see another face among our group.”

Grantaire looked as if he was ready to say something but instead, turned back to his work, pocketing the wrinkled flyer, and simply replied, “Can you be here Thursday, say around six? I want to get a few sketches in before I start with canvas.”

Enjolras looked at Jehan, wondering if that was a yes or a no, and Jehan simply shrugged, unsure himself, before silently reminding the other to reply.

Enjolras sighed before nodding at the others back, “Of course.”

Grantaire didn’t speak after that, immersing himself in his work once again and edging his face closer to the canvas as he made small quick strokes with his brush. Enjolras found himself lost in the others movements, feeling as though he could have watched the man for hours, before finding himself being dragged out of the studio by none other than Jehan, the soles of his sneakers squeaking unattractively against the wood of the floor. 

“ _Au revoir_ ,” Jehan added politely, before they exited the room, Enjolras’ own tongue too tied to echo the sentiment. 

As the door closed behind them, Grantaire sighed, dipping his brush in yet another color, swirling it upon his palette mindlessly. He paused for a moment, taking in his latest additions, before groaning audibly.

He really hated when people interrupted his work. 

\------------

Later that night, Enjolras practically fell into his apartment, leaving the door wide open as he flung himself upon the couch. Combeferre looked up from the textbook he was reading and frowned slightly, placing his glasses exhaustively on the table.

“What happened?” Combeferre inquired, getting up from his seat at the kitchen counter to close the door, sliding the deadbolt in place. 

His reply was a slight groan from Enjolras, most likely caused by his words being muffled from the pillow he had his face shoved in, and Combeferre sighed before sitting himself down across from his friend in one of the large armchairs they’d inherited from Marius, who swore he didn’t really need it since he was moving out of his apartment to find a new place anyway (which really meant he was being kicked out for not paying rent....again).

“Is that groan supposed to mean something or am I to assume you’ve lost your voice and I should call Joly over right away?”

Enjolras sat up quickly at Combeferre’s words, not wishing to have a worried Joly bothering him at this hour, “I assure you I am in perfect health.”

Combeferre smiled with a nod before restating his question, “What happened?”

Enjolras sighed, pushing stubbornly at the pillow beside him before answering, “Grantaire wants to paint me.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow in curiosity, leaning back in his seat, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes?” Enjolras replied before rethinking his answer, “No? I don’t know.”

Enjolras groaned once again, a habit Combeferre was already growing tired of, and threw himself against the back of the couch, eyes closed in exasperation. 

“Truthfully, Combeferre,” Enjolras begin, his voice small and questioning, “I don’t know what to think right now.”

“That’s good.”

Enjolras opened his eyes instantly, an eyebrow raised in interest.

“Confusion is a direct outcome of thinking,” Combeferre explained, moving soundlessly from his chair and back to the kitchen where his textbook and notes awaited peacefully, “Which means you’re actually giving some thought to this situation.”

“And...?” Enjolras questioned, watching as Combeferre collected his notes and placed them inside the front flap of his textbook.

“And I think it’s time we both went to bed,” Combeferre advised, placing the textbook under his arm and slipping his glasses inside his pant’s pocket.

Enjolras stayed silent this time, much to Combeferre’s relief, and crossed his arms childishly.

“I hate when you’re cryptic with me.”

Combeferre smiled warmly before disappearing into his room. 

With the door still open, Enjolras waited a moment, staring holes into the armchair across from him, before asking, “Combeferre?”

“Yes?” Came the bemused sigh from within the darkened room, it’s owner already lying in bed.

“Am I a terrible leader?”

Silence was the only answer for a while, much to Enjolras’ annoyance, before Combeferre reluctantly replied, “Go to sleep, Enjolras.”

After a few moments, Enjolras stood up silently and marched himself to his own room, where he collapsed ungracefully onto his mattress, falling asleep only after he’d reminded himself that he was, in fact, a great leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh it's been a while since I updated! I hope you all aren't too mad with me :( But anyway I hope you all enjoy and are eager to read more because I have so many things I want to do! (I feel like this story is going to be waaay longer than it should be but w/e) 
> 
> Also, I hope no one gets angry at me for the vague description of the college. I didn't want to use a preexisting one because I can't say for certain I know the details of any college in France and I hate writing about things I don't know because it feels wrong to me. So I just kind of vaguely made one up. Let's just say for the sake of this story, a university fell from the sky and that's where the Amis are going to school, okay? Okay.
> 
> Anyway, once again, comments and criticism are highly appreciated, and I really do honestly hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Ps. I like my Jehan very intrepid, so sorry if he's kind of brash in this story. I just like seeing him as this little ball of sunshine that can fuck shit up when he pleases.


	5. La Découverte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras runs away and Cosette is a good friend.

A cell phone rings throughout the apartment and Courfeyrac groans. 

“Hello?”, he answers half drowsy, even though it’s past noon.

“Enjolras is missing.”

\-----------------------------

The streets of Paris were packed, people of all kinds heading home for the afternoon, planning dinners and parties or simple nights in with a good book. They passed one another wordlessly, seamlessly, flowing around each other as easy and freely as water. But all of that was lost in the silence of the gallery, it’s closing hours soon approaching. 

“You still here?”

Enjolras looked up from where he was standing, hands in pockets and shoulders slouched. 

“You know, if you really like the painting so much, I could probably get a replica for you at a cheap price.”

Cosette stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a smile across her face. Enjolras sighed before glancing back up at said painting. It was the same painting he’d met Grantaire in front of; the same painting he’d let history repeat itself in front of. He’d been a fool to believe anything would be different this time around. No matter what he did, he couldn’t change anything. 

Lost in thought, Enjolras hadn’t noticed Cosette grow closer, only realizing her proximity when he felt a gentle hand rest upon his shoulder. It was hesitant at first, but when he showed no protest, it relaxed and rubbed soothing circles into his shoulder. 

“Hey,” she began, dragging Enjolras’ gaze away from the painting, “You hungry? I know a great place a few blocks down.”

Enjolras stayed silent for a moment, glancing up at the painting one last time, before nodding in compliance and allowing himself to be led out of the gallery, an unsatisfying click echoing through the building as Cosette locked up for the night. 

\-----------

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

Enjolras glanced up from his meal, a grilled sandwich that Cosette had ordered for him, before letting his eyes shift to the left. The cafe they were seated at was small but buzzing with activity. Every few minutes or so another patron would walk in, the bell above the door ringing their arrival, before ordering from the front counter or deciding to stay and linger, adding to the low hum of voices that Enjolras found soothing. 

“Look,” Cosette tried, placing the wrap she’d been eating back down on her plate, “I know you haven’t been having the best day but I can’t help you if you don’t talk about it.”

Enjolras sighed, before picking at the fries on his plate, “It’s nothing, really.”

Cosette’s smile fell slightly, “It’s not.” and then as if in explanation, “Marius called.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Of course he did...”

“He’s worried about you,” she replied, reaching across the table and resting her hand gently on his, “They all are.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Enjolras assured, flicking thoughtlessly at the cap on his water bottle, “Everything is as it should be. I have a protest scheduled for next week, Marius is still a complete idiot, the others are worrying over nothing, and Grantaire....”

Cosette raised an eyebrow in question, waiting for him to finish.

“...is _happy_ ,” Enjolras finished, hating the way his voice wavered at the word. He quickly reached for his bottle and took a long drink, wetting his dry mouth, before staring out the wide glass window beside their table. 

“Are you?”

“Pardon?” Enjolras asked, tearing his gaze away from the woman who had just passed by, her long silk scarf whipping in the breeze. 

“Are you happy?” Cosette asked again, grabbing a fry from his plate and pointing it at him accusingly before biting into it. Enjolras’ face remained neutral.

“I am,” Enjolras replied, his voice coming off less certain than he had hoped.

Cosette didn’t mention it though, and simply munched on a fry before wiping her mouth with her napkin, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Enjolras watched her for a moment, taking in her easy smile and warm gaze, and nodded silently.

“What do you feel towards Grantaire?”

“Well, I-” Enjolras paused, searching for the answer. What did he feel towards Grantaire? Annoyance for one, that was a given. Frustration? More than likely. But what else? Friendship? He liked to think that he and Grantaire were friends, even back before the revolution. Sure they fought and bickered more than necessary, but Enjolras had just assumed it was part of their relationship; the cynic arguing with the hopeful. It was in their nature after all, but it didn’t mean they weren’t friends. Sure, he may have said some things he regrets even to this day, but he had hoped that Grantaire had known he wasn’t serious, that they were aggressive words that spilled out in place of the fear and doubt he had felt in his heart the night the barricade arose. But even through all this, he felt as if there was something else between them, something deeper....

“I don’t know,” Enjolras confessed, his voice a low whisper, and he felt his hand twitch under Cosette’s. 

Cosette only nodded, her face completely understanding, before taking her hand back and wiping them on her napkin, “What do you say we go get some ice cream?”

Enjolras was taken aback at the question, unsure as to how the other could just jump from one subject to the next so easily, but seeing as his only other option was to go home to Combeferre’s scrutinizing gaze, he decided to comply. 

Smiling graciously, Enjolras stood himself up, Cosette following suite after placing money on the table, (with a _very_ gracious tip, he might add), and the two exited the cafe quietly, the buzz of the cafe transitioning smoothly into the hum of Paris at night. 

\--------

“Why are you doing this?”

Cosette lifted her eyes at the question, he mouth midway to her ice cream. She paused, thinking, before taking a bite from the pink dessert that filled her cone, a small bit of cream escaping to the corner of her mouth, where she licked it clean. 

“I like ice cream,” she replied, happily balancing on top of the small stone wall next to Enjolras ,much to his disapproval. Nearing the end, she hopped down expertly, before spinning on her heels to face him. 

“I’m being serious,” Enjolras reminded, watching his own dessert drip precariously down his cone. He licked around the edges, stopping the spread, before returning his attention back to Cosette who pursed her lips in a mock pout. 

“You need to eat it before it melts,” she reprimanded, demonstrating with her own as she took a huge chunk between her lips and smiled happily. Enjolras found his mouth twitch slightly at the sight. 

“I’ll eat when you tell me why you’re doing all this,” Enjolras offered up, holding his own cone out in offering.

Cosette watched for a moment, eyeing the white syrup dripping down the cone, before sighing exaggeratedly and turning around to keep walking. 

“I’ve always wanted to meet you,” Cosette began, staring dreamily at the street lamps that lit up their path. Enjolras followed slowly, staying a few steps behind as she continued on. 

“You’ve always wanted to meet me?” Enjolras asked when Cosette offered no further explanation.  
Cosette stopped suddenly, her face hidden from Enjolras, before looking up at the sky above them, the stars bright and abundant. 

“Marius always talked about you,” she continued, eyes never leaving the sky, “Even when the rest of the town said you were crazy for even attempting such a thing as revolution, Marius still looked up to you, believed in you.”

Enjolras stayed silent, his mind slowly comprehending what Cosette was saying.

“It’s odd, Marius always says it was me,” she continued on, her voice merely a whisper, “but sometimes I think you were his moment of breathless delight. With you he was happy. With all of you.”

It was then that everything clicked for Enjolras: the revolution, Marius’ confliction, the unknown woman...

Enjolras opened his mouth to say something but was cut off when Cosette turned around, her ice cream dripping obsessively over her cone and hand.

“Sometimes I think I can’t compare to the friendship you all share, the things you’ve been through together,” Cosette stared at her ice cream before watching a small chunk fall to the ground, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

Enjolras smiled softly, walking over to Cosette and taking the cone from her hand before pulling a napkin from his pocket and handing it over, to which Cosette was thankful. She then disposed of the sticky paper in a nearby trash can and recovered her mess of a dessert, biting into the cone thoughtfully as she finished it off. Afterwards, her eyes drifted to Enjolras whose own cone was still intact, a good amount of ice cream still lying on top. 

“You’re supposed to eat it now.”

Enjolras nodded slightly before obliging, afterwards handing his unwanted cone to Cosette who devoured it gratefully. The two then walked in silence a bit longer, looping back on their path so they headed back toward their respective homes. Once they’d hit Enjolras’ block, Cosette moving to go left while he went right, he grabbed her by the elbow softly. She stopped, turning back with raised eyebrows and a patient smile. 

“I’m sorry.”

Enjolras didn’t know what he was apologizing for, whether it was for the past or present or somewhere in between, but whatever the reason, it felt right. Cosette seemed to understand this and smiled graciously, eyes bright in the dark of the night. 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” 

At that moment, Enjolras swore he saw Grantaire instead of Cosette, his warm, brown eyes lighting up in understanding and acceptance. It was the same look he’d seen a long time ago, a familiar face in a time of fear. But just as quickly as it came, the image was gone, along with Cosette, and Enjolras was left alone in the street, a street lamp nearby flickering before stabilizing, and lighting his way home. 

\------------------

A cell phone rings, this time in Combeferre’s apartment.

“Did you find him?”, asks the half frantic voice on the other line.

“Yeah,” Combeferre answers, laying a blanket over a sleeping Enjolras, fingers still sticky from ice cream, “I found him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Part five! I know it's been a while since I updated but I've been really busy with college stuff, since I'm starting in the fall!! I hope to finish this before I start, seeing as how I don't know how much time I'll have to write once I start school again, and I know how much it sucks to wait five-ever for a story to update. :( Just be patient with me and enjoy please!! 
> 
> Ps if you want to follow me/talk to me/stalk me my tumblr is avengingiswhatidobest.tumblr :)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


	6. L'erreur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is not a morning person and Grantaire is Grantaire.

Enjolras frowned as he pulled the covers over his head, effectively blocking out the light that shone above his bed. He groaned loudly when he felt someone tug the covers back, exposing him fully to the glow of the fluorescent light bulbs that adorned his ceiling, and quickly buried his face in his pillow, curling his body inward as well. 

“It’s time to wake up.”

“It’s too fucking early,” Enjolras mumbled into his pillow, causing his attacker to chuckle lightly.

“Just get up, get dressed, and come eat breakfast before you go.”

Enjolras sat up slowly, his hair a mess of bed head, and squinted his half-opened eyes at Combeferre, “Go where, exactly?”

“To see Grantaire of course,” he replied matter-of-factly, before exiting the room and most likely returning to the kitchen. 

Enjolras sat still for a few minutes, shaking his mind of early morning fog, and stared daggers at the lightswitch across the room, half heartedly hoping that if he stared long enough it would switch to off. When no such thing happened, he contemplated turning the lights off himself and going back to bed, but he knew it was futile: Combeferre was a persistent man, especially when it came to starting the day. And besides, he still needed to know what Combeferre was talking about. 

Standing up and stretching his limbs, Enjolras slowly made his way into the kitchen where he took a seat at the island, arms folded on the tabletop and shoulders slouched. He paused for a moment before finding a bowl of scrambled eggs placed in front of him, steam rising from within. Enjolras waited a moment, using the fork he was given to stir the eggs around as he blew on them half heartedly, and began devouring his breakfast. Between mouthfuls, he remembered to ask:

“So where am I going today?”

He heard Combeferre sigh, still cooking his own breakfast on the stove, before replying, “To go see Grantaire. You told him you’d let him sketch you?”

Enjolras almost choked on his eggs before glancing at the calendar that hung on the wall beside him, and found written in his handwriting: Grantaire, six o’clock. Enjolras sighed, swallowing a mouthful of egg.

“I thought I didn’t need to be there until six?”

“Yes,” Combeferre replied with a laugh, “Six o’clock _AM_.”

This time Enjolras had enough foresight not to shovel more food into his mouth until after Combeferre answered.

“AM?” Enjolras practically yelled, leaning over to see the clock on the stove, “Since when did he say anything about six in the _fucking morning_?”

Combeferre looked ready to laugh again, but instead held it in and explained, “Jehan texted him since he never specified and knew you would never have the foresight to ask." 

Enjolras frowned at the comment, and flopped miserably down his seat, letting his fork fall with a clink into his bowl, “Since when does Jehan have Grantaire’s number?”

“Since he asked for it.”

Enjolras’ frown deepened at the curt reply, and quickly excused himself from the table. Checking the clock again, he reasoned he had a good twenty minutes before he needed to leave, and decided to shower before leaving. When he stepped out, Combeferre was waiting for him with clean clothes. 

“Next time I advise not sleeping in your clothes,”Combeferre remarked as he handed Enjolras a clean pair of jeans and an unwrinkled t-shirt. Enjolras only smiled graciously before heading to his room to change, ignoring the other’s comment. He reasoned he could do whatever he pleased; Combeferre wasn’t his mom. But upon noticing the pile of wrinkled clothes next to his door, he realized maybe Combeferre had a point. 

As he got dressed, Enjolras let his mind wander back to the events of yesterday, having spent most of it in Cosette’s company. He smiled fondly at the memory, and was grateful for everything she did and didn’t say. She had made him realize questions he never knew he’d been asking, problems he never even knew he had. Enjolras really hoped Marius kept her around. She was a good fit for him. 

Glancing at his alarm clock to see it was ten till, Enjolras quickly grabbed a sweatshirt from off his chair, hoping to block out the morning chill, and exited his bedroom, heading for the door. Of course, Combeferre was waiting by the door with a mug of coffee to go. Enjolras smiled smugly.

“You spoil me.”

“Someone has to,”Combeferre replied casually, handing Enjolras his mug, “If I didn’t you’d probably end up dead on some street corner from lack of sleep and nutrition,” and then, as a side note, “Joly would have my head.”

“That he would,” Enjolras agreed, taking a sip from the mug before unlocking the deadbolt on their door. With a two fingered salute, Enjolras said goodbye to Combeferre and headed down the stairs of their apartment and out onto the streets of Paris, quickening his step when he checked his watch and found it was exactly six o’clock.

\---------

Enjolras found himself stumbling into Studio A once again, just as unsure of himself as he’d been the first time. The only difference was this time, he came alone and, surprisingly, no one else was in the studio. 

Enjolras looked around for a moment, wondering if he was just missing the other hidden behind some easel or large canvas, and even exited the room once to recheck the label outside, which unfortunately still read ART STUDIO A. Enjolras sighed exasperatedly before assuming Grantaire was simply late (it wouldn’t be the first time) and decided to look around while he was waiting. 

After uncovering a few covered canvases, presumably belonging to other art students, Enjolras found himself impressed with the wide array of subjects: from simple still lifes to bustling scenes of life from the streets of paris the talent at the university was quite impressive, but it wasn’t until he stumbled upon a painting of Grantaire’s that Enjolras found himself truly impressed. 

It was the painting Grantaire had been working on when he and Jehan had showed up only two days ago, stumbling in upon his creative process. The painting was still in the works then, only the ghost of the woman that was to be captured on the canvas, but now the picture was complete and Enjolras could only think of one word to describe the woman in the painting: beautiful. 

Enjolras instantly recognized it as Grantaire’s sister, even without the other telling him so only days prior, because the resemblance was astounding. They both had a similar face shape with the same dark, curly hair wrapping around them in a way that could only be described as messy precision. But the most interesting part was the eyes; the eyes Grantaire had drawn upon his sister practically mirrored his own, the same dark chocolate pools that bored right into your soul yet made you feel safe and comfortable. They were a threat yet a blessing and Enjolras found himself wishing to meet this sister, if only to compare the real thing to her brother, to see if the painting held true. 

“Sorry about that. I forgot I lent my car to Em this morning so I had to walk.”

Lost in the painting, Enjolras hadn’t noticed Grantaire stumble into the studio, his own hair and clothes a mess. Enjolras quickly turned on his heels, dropping the cover back over the painting, and a feigned a look of innocence before smiling understandingly.

“It’s no trouble, really,” Enjolras assured, watching Grantaire run a hand through his tangle of curls before grabbing a stool from a corner of the studio and setting it down next to Enjolras, “I only got here a few minutes ago myself.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked, relief lacing his voice as he pulled up another stool opposite the first one.

“Yes,” Enjolras lied, sitting himself down when Grantaire instructed him to, placing his mostly empty coffee mug beside him. He watched Grantaire sit as well, pulling out a sketchpad and pencil from within a backpack he’d set beside him. He quickly flipped open to a new page and apologized once again for being late.

“I already feel bad about making you come in so early,” Grantaire began, sketching a few quick lines, “but my first class is in an hour and then I have a painting class this afternoon which I’m behind on and will probably end up staying here because of until god knows what hour of the night, so really this was the only time I could fit you in.”

“It’s no problem,” Enjolras assured, trying his best to remain as still as possible, “no problem at all, I assure you.” and then adding quickly, “Besides my first class isn’t until eleven anyway, so this gives me a few hours to work on some homework or something.”

Grantaire smiled at that, eyes glued to his sketchpad and motioned for Enjolras to move his face to the left. Enjolras obliged and tried not to feel too silly about the whole posing thing. 

“So,” Grantaire asked after a moment of silence, “Are you one of those ‘all work, no play’ type of guys?”

Enjolras frowned before remembering to keep his expression neutral, “I like to think I maintain an even balance of work and play, but work always holds precedence over play”

Grantaire laughed, casting his eyes upward quickly before returning to his sketch, “Of course it does.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Enjolras asked defensively.

“Nothing,” Grantaire deadpanned, “Tilt your chin down for me, if you will.”

Enjolras did as such, and the two continued on in silence for a bit longer. Enjolras decided to look out the large window to his right, and watched as a few students ambled about, the sun just descending upon the building and it’s surroundings. Enjolras sighed, before realizing his mistake, and noticed the small frown that grew upon Grantaire’s face at the sound. 

“So,” Grantaire began, once again, eyes still trained on his sketchbook, “You and ...Jehan, was it?”

“Yes.”

“So are you guys, dating?” Grantaire asked, his voice full of innocent curiosity. Enjolras felt his face redden at the question. 

“No,” Enjolras stated right away, not wanting any misconceptions to linger, “me and Jehan are simply friends. I’ve known him since middle school, so we’re quite close. But, um, not _that_ close.”

“Oh,” Grantaire replied, like he didn’t quite believe him, “Would you ever consider it?”

Enjolras was speechless, and glad he could blame it on his stillness. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Grantaire apologized, realizing his intrusion, “It was just a question. My censor kind of clicks off when I get into my ‘serious drawing’ mode.” Grantaire laughed at this, trying to play at some kind of joke, but Enjolras was not amused. 

“Right...” Grantaire sighed before turning his attention back to his work. 

The next fifteen minutes went by in silence and Enjolras found himself glancing at his watch quite often, much to his dismay. After another few minutes, Grantaire smiled and nodded satisfactorily before closing his sketchbook and dropping it back into his bag. He then stood up and placed his hand toward Enjolras. Enjolras took it before standing up, and the two shook quite awkwardly. 

“Thanks ever so much,” Grantaire said once again, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, and placing the two stools back in a corner of the room, “You have no idea how much you're saving me with these sketches.”

“No problem,” Enjolras replied, grabbing his mug and following Grantaire out of the studio. The two walked through the halls in silence and only when they were descending the stairs outside did Grantaire stop to say something. 

“Listen,” he began, staring awkwardly at the sidewalk and rubbing a hand through his hair once again, a habit Enjolras learned he was growing quite fond of, “I’m sorry. About what I said in there. Sometimes I forget that people don’t always want to tell strangers everything about their lives.”

Enjolras gave Grantaire a curious expression before realizing what he was referring too and laughing nervously, “No, don’t worry about it. It just surprised me was all. But I really shouldn’t be too surprised, I mean this is you we’re talking about.”

“Excuse me?” Grantaire asked, pure confusion written across his face, and only then did Enjolras realize his mistake. 

“Nothing,” Enjolras covered, moving around Grantaire so he could head back to his apartment, “I hope you can make it to one of our meetings sometime. Jehan would love it if you came.” 

Grantaire nodded silently, before pulling at the shoulder strap of his backpack, “Yeah, sure, I guess.”

And with that, Enjolras sped away, mentally cursing himself the whole way home until he founud himself outside his apartment door. He sighed before letting his forehead fall against the cool wood, not bothering to knock, knowing that Combeferre had already left for class. He stayed that way for a moment, not caring about the stares he would get if one of their neighbors decided to step outside, and mumbled to himself about his own stupidity before remembering that none of what he was doing was productive in anyway. Pulling his head from the door, he pulled the key out from under the mat and unlocked the door, letting it close with a loud bang that was neither satisfying nor gratifying. It sounded just as hollow as he felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all so much I've made today a double update day! Surprise! but seriously I just got really into the writing process today so I thought, what the hell, let's go for it. God knows you guys deserve it :)
> 
> Also I like to think Enjolras is a morning swearer so sorry if any of you think it's OOC :)
> 
> ps I think this story will be roughly around 16 chapters, but don't hold me too it!
> 
> Comments are appreciated as always!


	7. Progrès

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras is difficult and Grantaire's at least trying.

The day had been off to a bad start as it was, and now Enjolras found himself practically running through the streets, weaving and dodging around every disgruntled pedestrian he came across. He hadn’t meant to be late, really, he hadn’t, but things had taken a turn for the worse ever since the previous morning. 

After coming home, disappointed in not only himself but the situation at hand, Enjolras had collapsed himself upon his bed and done the one thing he’s good at: work. So he’d worked on essays and test prep, research and speeches for the upcoming rally, even started a term paper or two, (he even skipped his morning Chemistry class, much to his own disbelief) and it wasn’t until somewhere around three the next morning that Combeferre had shuffled into his room, just having woken up to use the bathroom, and calmly shut Enjolras laptop and told him to go to sleep, taking the laptop with him and turning the lights off on the way out. Enjolras had mumbled some kind of protest in return, but his exhaustion betrayed him and, before he knew it, it was 11:54 AM and he was late. 

Enjolras hated being late.

Turning the final corner, Enjolras flung open the door to the Musain, issuing a quick hello to the owner, before taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor, his friends already there and milling about. 

Bahorel was the first to notice his arrival, having been sulking in the corner with Feuilly and nursing a deadly hangover. 

“Well, look who decided to show up,” he proclaimed quite loudly, an edge to his voice that made Enjolras feel sympathetic toward the pain he was most likely enduring. The room was loud and in an uproar, per usual, so only a few paid mind as Enjolras entered, setting his backpack upon the closest table and pulling out his laptop. Within a few moments Combeferre was at his side, a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

“Sleep well?”, he asked, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Terribly,” Enjolras replied, throwing the other’s hand off and opening up his laptop. He quickly logged in and opened the folders he needed and began to explain to Combeferre the itinerary for the day. Combeferre nodded in understanding before moving to find Courfeyrac so he could print off the new poster designs, but as he did so he nudged Enjolras slightly, motioning to the far corner of the room. Enjolras raised an eyebrow in question, before following his line of sight and feeling his heart drop into his stomach. 

There sat Grantaire, laughing and talking with Jehan, a cup in his hand (full of alcohol no doubt), and Enjolras felt his mood improve ten fold at the sight. He considered going over and joining their conversation for a few moments, to give Grantaire the full rundown of the group and it’s members of course, but decided against it when he noticed the woman sitting next to him, an arm slung over Grantaire’s shoulder as she leaned towards Jehan and told him something in a slightly hushed voice. The two then proceeded to laugh and Grantaire pouted noticeably before having Eponine rustle his hair and tell him to ‘quit bein’ a baby.’ 

“You should go say hi,” Combeferre reminded, seeing the disdain on his friends face. Enjolras only stared at the pair before returning to his laptop and rereading a few documents for spelling errors. 

Combeferre sighed and moved on, finding Courfeyrac who nodded in understanding and headed downstairs to talk to the owner, who was kind enough to let them use their printer when they needed it. With Courfeyrac gone, the room quieted greatly and Enjolras took that as his cue to rally them together and officially start. 

It was actually Jehan who had caught his eye first, and quickly called everyone’s attention to Enjolras, giving him the floor. Enjolras smiled graciously before starting.

“As you all know, we have the big rally next week,” the room exploded in uproar, cheers ringing throughout before dying down just as quickly as they came, “and we have much to do before then.”

Enjolras looked around the room, making sure he had everyone’s attention before continuing. When his gaze fell across Grantaire, who was looking upon him with interest, Enjolras felt himself smile. 

“We are moving along with steady progress, which is fantastic,” Enjolras began quite happily, slowly pacing around the room, “but I believe you all know better than I that steady progress can quickly become stagnant if we don’t keep pushing. So that’s why-”

Enjolras was cut off by a muffled laugh from Grantaire, Eponine leaning in close to his ear. She flashed an innocent smile his way and Grantaire waved his hand apologetically. The others in the room grew gravely quiet, and didn’t dare take their eyes off of their leader. Enjolras nodded slowly in understanding before continuing. 

“That’s why I want to get all our promotional advertisements on the streets and in the people’s hands by this Saturday. That will give us a large enough window to send a few representatives outside of the immediate area and hopefully allow for-”

This time the laugh was quieter, but Enjolras couldn’t help but notice. He watched silently as Eponine nudged Grantaire and made some remark, earning a smile from Grantaire who sipped from his cup, trying his best to hide it. Neither seemed interested in Enjolras anymore, conversing low enough that only those immediately nearby could make out a few words and this caused something in Enjolras to snap. 

“This will allow for word to spread more effectively and to gain us a larger crowd and following. You each will be given your assignments for the weekend by either me or Combeferre and I expect them to be done as soon as possible with the utmost efficiency.”

And with that, Enjolras ended his speech, just as Courfeyrac made his way back up the stairs with a small pile of posters, and the cafe went about it’s usual business, which happened to be operating like a well oiled machine most of the time. Enjolras slumped down in his seat, returning his attention to his laptop where he clicked the space bar a few times, creating a large gap in an open document. He breathed outwardly before backspacing.

It was going to be a long afternoon. 

\------

The afternoon continued on much like normal, a few leaving now and then to head to class or a part time job. Enjolras monitored from afar, casting his gaze away from his laptop now and then, answering a question here and there, issuing out a few updates or orders when necessary. He even considered attempting to talk with Grantaire, who kept looking his way every so often expectantly, but thought better of it when Eponine caught his gaze and frowned disapprovingly.

It was during one of his updates, Feuilly having just said goodbye as he headed to his World Cultures class with Marius, when a phone suddenly rang in the cafe, everyone silent as they waited for the owner to pick up. The veterans of the group all knew phone’s were to be turned off during meetings, or at least put on vibrate, since Enjolras reasoned phone use increased a lack of productivity, so all eyes laid expectantly upon Grantaire and Eponine. 

Eponine shook her head defensively before watching Grantaire pull his phone out from his pocket, his face flushing as he answered it. 

“Hello?”

Enjolras paused to watch the other on the phone, his face contorting into weird expressions as he listened and responded to the voice on the other end.

“Yeah, okay.....yes....no I didn’t mean- okay, okay, just calm down....”

Grantaire ran a hand through his hair then, mouthing something to Eponine who stood up and took the phone, heading toward the stairs.

“Claire, honey, listen to me.....it’ll be okay....yeah....uh huh, sure-”

She then disappeared down the stairs, phone in hand, and Grantaire said something to Jehan before following Eponine out, offering a shrug and an apologetic smile to Enjolras and disappearing as well. 

Enjolras felt his face fall as he ordered the room to carry on as they were and Jehan quickly came up to him, an explanation on the tip of his tongue.

“I don’t have time, Jehan,” Enjolras cut in before he could start, watching as the other’s mouth quietly clamped shut and his eyes shone with sympathy. He then seated himself back down in front of his computer and waved Jehan away with the flick of the wrist, deciding to drown himself in work rather than face the fact that things were, in fact, not going the way he had expected.

\--------

The next day Enjolras found himself having an extra hour in between classes, seeing how one of his professor’s had come down with the flu and had to cancel class for the day, much to everyone’s excitement. Enjolras, on the other hand, was not so thrilled and found himself wandering around town, wondering what to do with his free time. He eventually found himself outside the same cafe he and Cosette had visited just the other day, finding himself smiling at the memory and quickly heading inside. 

The cafe was not as busy as it had been that night, the low hum of the coffee machine louder than the couple who talked quietly in the corner. Another patron sat quietly by the window, typing steadily at his laptop. Enjolras decided that maybe he could do the same and work on some projects while he waited, finding himself a small table where he dropped his things and returned to the front counter, looking over the menu closely.

“What can I get you?”, a man asked, just having stumbled out from a back room.

“A small coffee, black,” Enjolras ordered before adding quickly, “and something sweet, please”, his stomach rumbling as if in agreeance. Enjolras then pulled his wallet out, and practically dropped his money all over the floor when he finally glanced at his cashier.

“Gra-, Grant?” Enjolras corrected himself quickly, regaining his composure and keeping his hand steady as Grantaire took his money and rung him up. 

“That’s my name,” Grantaire smiled, offering up Enjolras’ change as he turned around to grab a cup for the coffee. Enjolras watched for a moment, tapping his fingers nervously on the counter, as Grantaire turned the machine on, shaking slightly as it filled Enjolras’ cup.

“One black coffee, hot,” Grantaire announced when it was done, placing a plastic lid on top before handing it over. Enjolras nodded appreciatively and watched as he then picked over the pastries lying inside the glass display case, deciding upon something flaky with a tan paste on the top. 

“Since when do you work here?” Enjolras couldn’t help but ask, watching as the other shut the sliding door, and grabbed something to put the dessert in. 

“Ever since I got fired from the last place I worked,” Grantaire laughed, placing the desert down to close the cash register drawer he’d accidentally left open, “I got fired for spiking people’s coffee, but I swear those people need the extra oomph.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile at the idea of Grantaire spiking people’s coffee with one of his flasks, innocently handing them what surely tasted like death in a cup. Grantaire pretended to be offended by his amusement before smiling right along with him and handing him his receipt.

“Oh, and something sweet,” Grantaire finished, handing the forgotten pastry over to Enjolras, wrapped in a small piece of wax paper. Enjolras took it appreciatively and placed it next to his coffee. When he looked up, Grantaire was biting his lip thoughtfully.

“Look,” he began, leaning against the counter, “I’m sorry about yesterday. And no, it’s not 'alright’. It was a shitty thing to do, I know.”

Enjolras was slightly taken aback at his apparent predictability, but Grantaire continued on and Enjolras felt obliged to listen.

“It’s just...my sister recently had a kid and she’s going through this weird faze where she gets crazy emotional sometimes, I’m talking every color of the rainbow here, and, well, sometimes Marcus, her husband, doesn’t really know how to deal with it so he calls me and I have to kind of talk her through whatever she’s going through.”

“She’s family,” Enjolras cut in, feeling a tinge of guilt creep across his face for not giving the other the benefit of the doubt the previous evening, “I understand.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Grantaire accepted, glancing at the cash register before meeting Enjolras’ gaze, “But still, I’m sorry. We both are.”

“Both?” Enjolras found himself asking before he could stop.

“Yeah, me and Em,” Grantaire explained, pushing himself away from the counter as a customer walked in, only to look around and take a seat at an empty table, textbook in tow, “I should have introduced you guys, sorry. Her name’s Emilia but everyone calls her Em. I’ve known her since I was in preschool, so we’re kind of close, hence why I brought her along.”

“That’s...nice,” Enjolras replied, not sure what he was expected to say in this situation. He wrapped his hand around his coffee cup and felt it grow cold.

“She’s fantastic, really, I should introduce you guys sometime,” Grantaire responded cheerily, “Properly of course. I wanted to introduce her yesterday but ya’ know,” he mimed a phone at his ear and Enjolras couldn’t help but smile, “and, well, you seemed kind of busy. But I think you guys would get along pretty well.”

“I can imagine,” Enjolras remarked, more sarcastically than he had meant to, angry at himself for having come across as unapproachable, and Grantaire raised a concerned eyebrow in reply.

When Enjolras didn’t reply, Grantaire just shrugged.

“Anyway,” Grantaire began, deciding to ignore the comment and look over Enjolras’ shoulder as yet another customer entered, taking in the menu from the door, “Sorry again. About the whole thing. I’ll try to stop by another time, hopefully with better results.”

“I’d like that,” Enjolras found himself replying sincerely, a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Grantaire smiled then and gave a small wave as Enjolras turned to leave, remembering to gather his coffee and pastry, and grabbed his bag from the table he’d been planning to occupy, deciding it was better to leave while he still had the upper hand. The woman at the door quickly passed him on his way out, placing an order with Grantaire who smiled pleasantly as he went to work, giving the lady a simple coffee in return for the money she handed him. Even from across the room, Enjolras couldn’t help but notice the warmth in Grantaire’s eyes.

_That’s all I needed to hear..._

Enjolras watched the woman walk away from the counter, thinking for a moment, before speaking loud enough for Grantaire to hear, “Hey, Grant?”

“Yeah?” Grantaire replied, an empty cup in his hand as he closed the cash register drawer yet again.

This was absurd. He was crazy. 

“Ah, nothing just,” Enjolras stalled, hoping that maybe he would find enough common sense to back out before he did something embarrassing, something he’d regret. His hand curled around the handle of the door reflexively, his knuckles going white.

“I-” 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he should just leave now, cut his losses while he has the chance- 

”I’m sorry.”

Too late.

And with that Enjolras exited the building, not daring to look back as he hurried across the street, his heart racing inside his chest. 

If he had looked back however, he would have seen the tiniest light spark in Grantaire’s eyes before he grabbed his head in pain, a slight dizziness and fatigue hitting him like a brick wall, something he would later write off as a product of his inability to sleep properly the last few days and take two aspirin to cure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness gracious, this story is really taking off and I hope you guys are enjoying! This may be my last update for a while though so please bear with me! I know my updating schedule is wacky but I love each and every one of you for putting up with it! 
> 
> Again, comments are appreciated (seriously guys I don't know if you like what's going on or not and your opinion is important to me so please share your thoughts!) and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Ps my tumblr is avengingiswhatidobest.tumblr if you want to talk/complain/stalk ;)


	8. Accrochage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras and Eponine clash and Grantaire is oblivious.

The next day, the Musain was practically empty, it’s sole inhabitants the only members without Sunday plans. Courfeyrac was busy playing Words with Friends with Marius in a corner of the room, making odd, disgruntled noises everytime Marius somehow ended up to spell one word more than him (“You’re finger isn’t even moving that fast! It isn’t possible!"). Marius smiled each time with an apologetic shrug, inwardly thanking Cosette for taking the time to teach him the trick of the trade. 

Enjolras sat nearby with Jehan, struggling through their latest philosophy homework, considering that with each answer Enjolras wrote page long paragraphs about his opinion on the matter.

“You do understand that you only need to describe Plato’s opinion on democracy, right?” Jehan asked, flipping to the next page in the packet as Enjolras continued to scribble furiously in his.

“I’m simply adding to the answer,” Enjolras stated, letting his pencil slack in his grip and flipping to another page in their text book, “Besides, why do the bare minimum when you can go above and beyond? You have to make your education count, Jehan” At this, Enjolras pointed his pencil at Jehan as if to emphasize his point. Jehan ignored it and focused his attention back on his textbook.

“Did you know Grantaire doesn’t drink?” Jehan asked after a few minutes of silence, eyes still glued to his book. Enjolras looked up from his with a frown.

“What do you mean he doesn’t drink? I saw him drinking just the other day.”

“Yeah, drinking coffee.” Jehan corrected, meeting Enjolras’ eyes with a smile, “ Apparently he had a problem with it in high school but Em- I mean Eponine got him through it. Took him to AA meetings and everything,” Jehan paused, glancing at his book, before leaning close, “She even told me she got into a fight with him once and ended up with a black eye when she wouldn’t tell him where the wine was. But don’t worry, she said she did much worse in return.” 

Enjolras stared for a moment before returning his attention to his packet, "Classy.” 

“I don’t know,” Jehan defended, glancing down at his book and turning a page,” I like her. She’s very....” 

“Intrepid?”

Jehan turned around to find Courfeyrac standing behind him, glancing over his shoulder at his homework. He frowned and stuck his tongue out before turning back around and Courfeyrac laughed before seating himself beside Jehan, glancing at Enjolras who rolled his eyes at the whole spectacle. 

“I thought you were playing with Marius?”

Courfeyrac shrugged, stealing Jehan’s pencil to fill in an unanswered question, “I was. Until I realized he’s a big fat cheater.”

“Am not!” Marius defended, seating himself at their table as well, “I just have a good teacher that’s all.”

Jehan and Courfeyrac shared a look, and Marius blushed slightly before turning his attention to Enjolras. 

“So what are you doing?”

“Currently we’re-” Enjolras began, but before he could finish, a pair of feet were heard marching up the stairs, and all four turned around to see who had arrived. Marius was the first to speak.

“Eponine?”

In the doorway stood none other than Eponine, jaw squared and eyes full of determination. She didn’t stray very far from the steps, keeping a good distance between her and their table, but she set herself firmly in place and crossed her arms defiantly.

“Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing?”, she demanded, eyes locked on Enjolras. 

The four at the table looked at each other for a moment, unsure what she was talking about, so Enjolras took the lead, “Well, right now we’re doing homework for-”

“You know what the fuck I’m talking about,” Eponine stated, cutting the other off. Enjolras gave her a confused look.

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Like hell you don’t,” Eponine replied, pulling out her phone quickly to bring something up. She then placed it toward Enjolras who squinted at the screen.

“I don’t-” he began, but Eponine rolled her eyes and gestured for him to come look. Reluctantly, Enjolras stood up from his seat and took the phone from her, scrolling through the conversation. They were messages from Grantaire. Enjolras’ brow furrowed.

“He told me you stopped by his work the other day. Said you two had a grand time and that he promised to come by here again sometime,” Eponine let out a low, gritty laugh, “He even asked me to come along.”

Enjolras scrolled another moment, before handing the phone back to Eponine who pocketed it quickly and glared at Enjolras.

“Whatever game you’re playing, it ends now,” she began, stabbing Enjolras with a finger in the chest, “He’s doing fine without you, was before and still will in the future. So don’t pretend to be all buddy-buddy now, pal. I know what you are and what you did. Grantaire may not remember but I _do_.”

Enjolras eyes narrowed and he pushed her hand away.

“I promise you I have done nothing to hurt, Grantaire,” Enjolras defended but Eponine just laughed at him.

“Nothing? Really?” she replied accusingly, stepping slightly closer to Enjolras, “Because I can name you a hundred times you hurt him, practically ripped his heart in two. And don’t think your little death schtick can make up for it.”

“Eponine,” Marius interrupted, to the surprise of everyone, as he stood from his seat, hands placed defiantly on the table.

“Sit down, Marius Pontmercy!” Eponine replied, voice full of anger, “I don’t want to hear anything from you. You have nothing to say to me.” 

Marius opened his mouth to reply, but he could hear the hurt in her voice, beneath all the anger, and it brought about a great weight on his shoulders. He sat down and let his shoulders sag slightly. 

Eponine’s eyes flickered back to Enjolras, who held her gaze firmly. 

“Well? What do you have to say?”

Enjolras watched her a for a moment, taking in the smirk of her mouth and the defiance in her jaw. But underneath it all, he could see the hurt in her eyes, the reddening of her cheeks that had seen one too many tears. His voice softened slightly.

“I may not be able to compare to the relationship you have with him,” Enjolras began, placing a hand on Eponine’s shoulder, “ but that doesn’t mean I won’t try. Grantaire is an important friend to me, to all of us, whether you believe it or not.”

Eponine watched him for a moment, searching for something else to yell at him for, but found nothing, and instead shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

“What the fuck ever. Just stay away from him, alright.”  
And with that she left, leaving Enjolras and the others to stare in silence, comprehending all that had just passed. Why the threat? Why now? He’d already visited Grantaire more than once, seen him on a few occasions, so what changed? Enjolras’ mind raced for comprehension.

“Well,” Courfeyrac interrupted, tapping Jehan’s pencil on the table, “that was awkward.”

Marius smiled.

Jehan made sure to punch Courfeyrac in the arm as hard as he could. 

\-----------------------------------

“Hey.”

Eponine looked up as she entered the apartment, kicking the door closed behind her. Grantaire sat on the kitchen counter, a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. He frowned when her eyes met his.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, setting the pizza back in the box, worry laced in his voice. Eponine cursed him for being able to read her so well. 

“Around,” she replied vaguely, grabbing Grantaire’s discarded slice and taking a huge bite. It was slightly cold but generally warm, and she was starving. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t have dinner yet?” he asked, respecting Eponine’s wish to leave the subject well alone. He knew Eponine would tell him about whatever it was in her own time. 

“I can’t even afford to live on campus,” Eponine reminded, taking another bite from her pizza, “What makes you think I can afford three square meals a day?”

Grantaire smiled, and hopped off the counter, “I’ll take that as a no.”

Eponine watched as he grabbed the phone and dialed an all too familiar number and ordered them chinese takeout, knowing Eponine’s order by heart. When he hung up, he walked to the fridge and pulled out two cans of soda. Eponine caught her’s with practiced ease.

“So,” she began, moving toward the couch, “What are we watching tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Grantaire shrugged, taking his seat next to her, feeling the couch shift slightly beneath their combined weight, “What about Game of Thrones? We still haven’t watched season three.”

“Pass,” Eponine groaned, leaning against Grantaire and grabbing for the remote, “I can only take so much boob before even mine become unappealing.”

Grantaire laughed at this,his genuine, hearty laugh, and Eponine smiled, snuggling in closer to his shoulder before deftly scrolling through the movies on screen and picking (500) Days of Summer. Grantaire made a face.

“Why do you like this movie?”

Eponine sighed, making herself comfortable as the opening credits played, “Because it reminds me that guys are assholes and perpetually five years old.”

“I don’t think that was the message of the movie,” Grantaire replied, letting the generalization slide.

Eponine shrugged, “It is for me.”

Grantaire chuckled quietly, shaking his head, and Eponine felt his body shake beneath her shoulder and cheek, a soft rumble that made her smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. um. sorry about the delay. If you didn't notice already, this is looking to be about thirteen chapters long so we're nearing the end! This is pretty much the turning point, so it's all downhill from here. I hope you all enjoy and are eager to read more! 
> 
> Again, comments are always appreciated! :)


End file.
